


Golden Dreams

by Akingrecitinghamlet



Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Sobbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:51:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akingrecitinghamlet/pseuds/Akingrecitinghamlet
Summary: A collection of short drabbles about the way Samuel Grant and Cobbs Pond look at each other, amoung other things.An ongoing drabbles fic.





	1. Dream of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this tiny first drabble at Christmas time and didn't feel bold enough to finish it, and it's collected some small little buddies to keep it company- anything small I tap out at work or in the evening I'll put here! Rest assured, bigger things are coming. Once I figure out a plot haha.  
> Thank you guys for bearing with me and let me know what you think! I would love to have some direction to move in for something larger.  
> You guys are awesome!

     There's Christmas Mass in Montreal, which they attend every year as a primire social functional, mostly to flash eyes at the other fur dealers and be stared at. Samuel looks like a dream, curled petulantly in seal and offhandedly taking communion like he would shake the mitted paw of some apologetic trapper. The wine and bread cross his lips and Cobbs can't help but feel jealous. The talk of blood and body doesn’t help. He shifts in his pew seat and perhaps Samuel smiles, downwardly, as if let in on a subtle joke, and the rest of the fur-lined congregation makes assumptions about why the good devils Mr. Grant and Mr. Pond might look discomfited accepting Christ.

    It's a vicious wind which blows them home from the white-painted and wide-windowed church, it's multitudes thinning in their finery into the snow. It's comfortable in Montreal, and comfort enough makes businessmen lax and paranoid- all too jumpy to make deals, too relaxed to expect a knife in the back. Samuel makes some sort of soft remark about them all fleeing from the house of God as he watches them, paused for a moment on the steps while they slip away into the afternoon, their minds on roasted duck and mulled wine.

“You'd think they'd be a little careful not to leave so quickly.” Samuel's laugh comes low and quiet, hanging around them like icicles. “Wouldn't want anyone to make any imprudent assumptions.”

    “No standards these days.” Cobbs jeers, and the two laugh.


	2. Dream of Waking

     They are young, and in America. He kneels at the side of Samuel’s bed. It's cold out, and the windows are tightly shuttered and the fire stoked to roaring, but the floor is still chilled. He can feel it in his knees, somewhere there, under the carpet.

     Samuel wakes with a dreamless murmur and turns to see him, face peering gently over the edge of the bed. It's a silly thing to do, like they're children and Pond is letting him have an easy win at hide-and-go-seek, but the begrudgingly bright smile that breaks over Samuel's face is a good enough reason to think of doing it again. Samuel has a fine sense of humor, Cobbs thinks, and gently nestles in beside him when invited. It means so much to be invited.

    Cobbs Pond is a strange and rare animal as he curls up neatly under the arm of a drowsy Samuel Grant, knees tucked in primly, wandering hand pressed to Samuel's cheek as his arm encircles him.

     “Good dreams?” He asks, voice thick and sweet like honey.

     “Better waking.” Samuel's low, familiar chuckle is even better to hear reverberate so close to his chest.

     “Could be better,” Cobbs offers, and he leans his mouth up for a kiss.

     This Samuel grants him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of expanding this one later honestly.


End file.
